


we shall be monsters

by howlinglight



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Lesbian Dee, M/M, POV Multiple, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, now with bonus Mac!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-04-28 11:04:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14447943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howlinglight/pseuds/howlinglight
Summary: One troubled veterinarian, an aspiring actress stuck working for her brother, and their frequent, unexpected guest slowly attempt to figure each other out, discovering an unexpected connection, and culminating in a night that none of them will forget.  This is the story of an old grudge, a stolen credit card, a bag of cocaine, and about 80 cats.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SunnyRarePairs2](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SunnyRarePairs2) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
>
>>   
>  AU in which Dennis did become a veterinarian like he planned. (It's up to you if he keeps the skins)  
> Charlie brings in his cat to get its stomach pumped after it eats a ton of kitten-mittens.  
> They each find the other strange and disturbing, but that doesn't mean they can't meet for a drink or something.  
> Any rating.
> 
>   
> So, this story turned out about ten times longer than I meant for it to be. AUs have never been my thing, but I'd be lying if I said I loved it anything short of wholeheartedly. That said, thank you so much for reading and thank you in advance for waiting as I update. The whole thing is basically finished, needs a bit of tweaking, some minor rewrites, but most of the work left to do lies in typing it. I'm not sure how long that's going to take, but when all is said and done, it should be somewhere between four and seven chapters, depending on how I split things up, and also on how eager I am to get it posted lmao  
>  **CH1 CW: Explicit drug use.**

  
  
“It is true, we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more attached to one another. Our lives will not be happy, but they will be harmless and free from the misery I now feel.”  
— Frankenstein, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

**we shall be monsters // act i.**

“He’s here.” 

Dee sticks her head in the door just as Dennis is perfecting a pair of fine white lines. He jumps at the sound of her voice, sending a shower of cocaine across the desktop, and a second later his hand makes a fist around the business card he had been cutting with. 

“ _Jesus Christ_ ," he snaps, throwing the card at her. “Don’t sneak up on me.” 

Dee rolls her eyes, waits for a response, but Dennis just plucks another card from the holder on his desk and returns to his work. 

“Did you hear me?” 

“Someone’s here,” Dennis says, waving his free hand dismissively. “They can wait ten minutes.” 

"Okay..." Dee leans back in the door, looking down the hall toward the waiting room, and calls out “It’ll be about ten minutes, Charlie.” 

Dennis looks up abruptly. “You didn't say who it was.” 

“Oh?” Dee raises an eyebrow. “Does it make a difference?” 

“Two minutes,” says Dennis, dropping the card again to pick up a hollow pen, through which he does the two lines in quick succession. As he snaps back in his seat, hissing, Dee lingers in the doorway. 

“Gonna share?” she asks, although she must know better by now. 

Dennis pinches the bridge of his nose, says “Are you going to do your goddamn job?” 

“I do more work around here than you do,” says Dee. 

“ _Right_ ,” says Dennis, running his fingers across the powdery desktop and licking them clean. “Who’s name is on the sign?” 

“We have the same name, dumbass. And you’re disgusting.” 

“What? You want me to waste it?” 

“You put down a dog this morning.” 

“And I wore gloves,” says Dennis. “Mind your own business and go back to work.” He rolls his eyes and stands up from the desk, waving her away with both hands. 

“You want me to send him in now?” she asks. 

“Yes,” says Dennis. “Now _shoo_.” 

Dee leaves the door wide open when she goes, and with an agitated sigh, Dennis crosses his small office to close it behind her, pausing to look down the hall as he does. Charlie is sitting with the cat carrier against his chest, his arms stretched around it, barely meeting on the opposite side. Standing in front of him is Dee, hand on her hip, saying without enthusiasm _okay come with me_. Charlie rises awkwardly from his seat, and Dee begins to turn back toward the hallway, which is when Dennis shuts the door fully, this time securing the lock. 

Beside the door, his brown leather jacket hangs from a hook, and he reaches into it to retrieve his keys. After settling back into his high backed leather chair, he unlocks the second drawer of his desk to rifle through its contents; none of the things inside are especially valuable, unless of course you happen to be Dennis, which is why he has to keep a lock between them and Dee. What he pulls out is a perfect example: his roll on foundation, which is nowhere near Dee’s sallow, washed out tone, though that won’t keep her away from it. 

In his phone’s front facing camera he fixes his complexion- not that it needs much fixing- and sweeps his hair back, all except for one curl which he brings forward, licking the pads of his thumb and forefinger and twisting it perfectly into place over his forehead. 

The last thing he does is take his name tag off, reaching into the front of his shirt to catch the back of the magnetic clip as he pulls it apart. With his hand against his chest, he can feel the hammering of his heart through his ribs. The tag is gold, real gold, from the early days of the clinic when there was no such thing as excess. It reads, simply: _Dr. Dennis Reynolds DVM_. He polishes it with the hem of his shirt, though it’s going to take a lot more to bring its shine back now, and puts it back in its place. 

Finally, he checks the time, realizing immediately that he didn’t check it beforehand, but making a confident guess that it’s been about two minutes. Either way, Charlie will just have to forgive him for the wait. 

☆ ☆ ☆

From the first appearance Charlie made at the clinic, a little less than two months ago now, Dennis knew he had a unique case on his hands. 

The scruffy young man, with his torn jeans and jacket so ratty that Dennis couldn’t believe he was willing to be seen in it, had arrived unannounced with an equally ragged orange cat squirming in his arms. His arrival cut straight into an argument about wage laws, and the smile that came to Dennis’s face as he greeted him was warm with genuine relief. 

“What can I do for you?” 

Before he could answer, Dee cut in. “You don’t have an appointment,” she said as if firing a heavy accusation. 

Still struggling with the cat, the young man smiled at them, probably trying to be charming, and got clawed in the neck for his efforts. “ _Ow!_ Sorry, I— _Shit— Ow—_ Yeah. I was hoping you had one free,” he said, trying to pull the cat away from himself slightly, only for it to lodge its claws into his shoulder, right through the terrible green jacket. He winced. “Hopefully soon?” 

Without even blinking, Dennis said “I’ll take you right now,” and gestured toward the hallway. “First door on your right.” 

“Oh, seriously?” the stranger said and began walking in that direction. “Thank you so much, man.” 

Diving immediately into his escape route, Dennis said: “So, what seems to be the problem?” 

As he passed in front of Dennis, who stepped back to give the struggling animal it’s space, he began to explain. “I’m not really sure, exactly, but if you just want to give him one of everything you’ve got, just to be safe, then—“ 

Which was when Dee, like the arrogant bitch that she is, cut in with “Hey! What about my thing?” 

“I’m with a patient right now,” Dennis said without looking at her, already well aware of how she was scowling at him. 

“Oh, so you can afford to see homeless guys, but you can’t afford to pay me?” Dee snapped. 

“I’m not homeless,” said the man, turning to look at Dee. “I have money. I'll show you. Where can I put this guy down?” 

“First door on your right,” Dennis said again, and this time man went right in. 

A second passed after he crossed the threshold and in it Dee balled her fingers into the back of Dennis’s shirt, growled “ _I’m not—_ “ but then there was a yelp, a thud, and a sudden spot of dingy orange flying back out the doorway. It raced down the hall, crash landing under Dee’s desk and staying there, as the stranger came back into the hall. 

“Sorry!” he said. “I’ll get him. Where’d he go?” 

“It’s under my desk!” Dee shouted. 

The man took three steps toward her before Dennis put a hand out to stop him, and said: “Maybe it just needs a minute to calm down.” 

“If it pisses under there—“ 

“He won’t,” said the man. “He probably won’t, anyway.” 

“Great,” said Dee, glaring down at the shadowy corner below her desk where the cat had hidden. Then she turned her sour gaze back to the stranger and folded her arms across her chest. “Anyway, where’s this money?” 

“Oh, right!” said the man, who started patting down his jeans, his jacket, going over every pocket before a pause, punctuated by a soft chuckle. Shaking his head, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a brown paper bag which he held aloft with pride. 

It was folded down to about the shape of an envelope, though much bulkier, and something had been written on it in a crude hand, wielding a red marker. _Envestman_ , it read, the text cut short by the edge of the bag, a _ts_ tacked on crookedly beneath it. _Investments_. 

“I see,” said Dennis. 

The other man unfolded the bag, gave it a light shake to show it was quite full, and when Dennis still didn’t move to take it from him, he reached into the bag himself. He pulled out a handful of crumpled bills and stepped forward to offer them to Dennis, pressing them against his chest. 

Dennis caught the money with both hands and looked down, a little dazed, at $115. He almost said _the checkup is only $45_ , but caught himself. From the brief look he had at the animal, he guessed it could use a flea treatment, at very least. On top of that, there was no way it was properly vaccinated, and even if, by some miracle, it was— well, you could never be too safe. He flashed the money in front of Dee and grinned smugly, but she only rolled her eyes. 

“You’ll have to forgive my secretary,” said Dennis, shaking his head but smiling broadly, as he began straightening out the bills. “She really just… doesn’t know the first goddamn thing about talking to people.” He laughed after saying it, entirely for the other man’s benefit, but when Dennis looked at him, he didn’t actually look offended. If anything he looked relieved to see Dennis neatly fold the bills and tuck them into the breast pocket of his blue shirt. 

“It’s cool,” said the other man, smiling at Dennis before turning to Dee. “I can probably get him if you let me by.” 

He barely finished saying it before Dennis snapped “Move!” and began waving Dee out of the way. 

“I’m not done with you,” she said, pointing a finger and glaring at him, before finally storming down the hall and out of sight. 

The odd guest was already kneeling in front of the drawers under which the cat had hidden itself. There was only about six inches of space below that section and in looking underneath it his face was lowered nearly to the floor. The opposite end of him, meanwhile, was decidedly not. 

_Maybe_ , thought Dennis, _the jeans aren’t so bad_. He also thought, as he heard the cat hissing well ahead of any attempt being made to reach it, that he should probably put a stop to all this, but that would have spoiled the show. 

A moment later and without warning, the other man reached out for the animal with both hands. There was a thump, a shrill wail, and the sudden, frantic scraping of claws across the floor as the cat fled its hiding place. The man lunged sideways in pursuit of it and drove his head straight into the arm of Dee’s swivel chair on the way to the floor. The cat, meanwhile, with nowhere else to hide in the front room, raced around the corner, down the hallway, and through the still open door of the exam room. 

“Well,” said Dennis. “That solves half the problem.” 

“Where’d he go?” the other man asked, standing slowly, using one hand to leverage himself on the desk and the other to rub at his forehead. 

“Right where we want him,” said Dennis, who made a _come with me_ gesture, before walking into the room. 

He closed the door behind them as they both looked around and both found no trace of their target. First, he checked below the cupboard, then behind a shelving unit, then back to the cupboard to check the inside. 

“He can’t have gone far,” he said, because it had to be true, and opened the closet to check there. 

“The trick,” came the reply from across the room. “Is to catch a cat, you’ve got to think like one.” 

“Is that so?” said Dennis, turning and raising an eyebrow. “And exactly how does a cat think?” 

Looking incredulously at him, the other man replied: “Aren’t you supposed to know that?” 

It caught Dennis off guard, and by the time that he saw the total lack of malice in it, he had already snapped “Do not be ridiculous!” he tried to soften it, by adding “They have behavioural patterns and characteristics, but no one actually _knows_ what they’re thinking.” 

The other man smiled and looked around the room once more as he said: “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” He let a few seconds pass, before asking, apropos of nothing, “Do you really not have a garbage can in here?” 

“Of course I do,” said Dennis. “Why?” 

“Think like a cat,” was the grinning reply. 

It was Dennis’s turn to look incredulous. “He won’t be in there,” he said, crossing the room to the far end of the counter, where the top of it jutted out an extra foot, whether to provide space or to shelter whatever was underneath it. “I keep it here so they don’t get into it,” he said, as he pulled the garbage can from beneath it. It may have been easy to miss but it was by no means hidden, only blocked off from intruders. At least, he thought it was until he looked down to see a mass of filthy orange fur uncurl itself to reveal a tiny, irritated face. 

“Shit,” said Dennis, because what else could he say? 

The cat did not say anything. 

“You know,” came the voice of the apparently cat-whispering stranger, suddenly close behind him. “It might be easier to just keep him in there while you do your thing.” 

“You know, you might be right,” said Dennis, slowly beginning to nod. “You might just be right—“ and it was only as he went to say it that he realized: “You know what else? I never even got your name.” 

“Oh!” said the stranger, and with a sheepish grin, he stopped being one. “It’s Charlie. And what about you, Dr…?” 

“Dennis,” he replied, and he wasn't exactly sure why. It wasn't the title he had spent half of his twenties earning, that he had every right to be addressed with, but when Charlie smiled and said it back to him, it felt just as good.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CH2 CW: Some unfortunate stuff happens to some cats, but they all make it out just fine. This is also the point where I should probably point out that these guys are really not qualified to look after anyone or anything, so maybe don't copy any of their animal handling advice from here on out.

Several days later, Charlie returned with another cat, and a few days after that there was another, and yet another still, and so a sort of pattern began to develop: Charlie would arrive, unannounced but not unwelcome, with cat after cat held against or inside that awful green jacket, and Dennis, who was only rarely occupied with other work, and never with anything more interesting, would rush to see how Charlie might surprise him this time.

The cats came in a wide array of sizes, breeds, and states of cleanliness, though most of them were in generally good health. Even the mangiest of them was otherwise well taken care of. There were exceptions though, to that rule and all others, and the first one came on the same day that Dennis lost count. 

It was either the eighth or ninth cat, he was sure of that much (Dee was adamant that it was the tenth and she was, as usual, completely clueless), though the exact number didn’t matter all that much. What mattered was the other number, the unknown number, the one that continued to grow, that had now surely crossed into the absurd and still showed no signs of stopping. How many more could there be?” 

Things had gotten started normally enough that day: Charlie had brought in a fat tabby that slept soundly in his arms and Dennis lead him into the exam room, where he promptly skipped all the introductory crap to get to the conversation he was dying to have. It was just that as he opened his mouth to ask his question, Charlie lowered his head to nuzzle the cat and it must have tickled him or something, because the smallest laugh burst from between his lips and it hit Dennis square in the chest, making him trip over his should-have-been-smooth inquiry so it came out “You— you must _really_ like cats.” 

Mentally, Dennis kicked himself, though Charlie didn’t seem to notice or care if he fell somewhat short of grace. “I’m kind of an animal guy,” he said with a grin and as much of a shrug as he could manage with the cat in his arms. 

“Clearly,” said Dennis. “Since you have so many.” 

“I have a few,” Charlie said abruptly and then began lifting the cat away from his chest. “Anyway, this is Jack.” 

“Huh. That’s my cat's name,” Dennis noted, as Charlie set the animal down on the metal table. It yawned at being woken up and looked bleary-eyed between the two men. 

“For real?” said Charlie. “That’s awesome. I named him that cause—“ and here Charlie paused, laid a palm over one eye and made a hook of the opposite hand. “It’s like, pirates, y'know?” 

Dennis didn’t answer. He was still looking down at the cat, staring at its eye— well, more so at the one it didn’t have. He was barely paying attention when Charlie continued, excitement waning from his voice, “Frank said it was a stretch but—“ 

“It’s fine,” said Dennis, without looking up. “What happened to him?” 

Charlie winced sympathetically down at the cat. “Sometimes they get into fights,” he explained. “And some of them are kinda aggressive.” 

“Another one of your cats did this?” Dennis asked, looking closer at the wound that took the eye: two long, jagged cuts ran across that side of the animal’s face, and though they were far from fresh, they were not yet fully healed. 

“Not on purpose,” said Charlie. “It’s… Well, they all used to be strays, right. Some of them for like, a really long time, and…” He kept stroking the cat, fingers running the length of its spine, over and over again. 

“Something I should know?” said Dennis. 

“I don’t know,” said Charlie. “It’s just that the one who did it was a stray for like, his entire life, and what happened was he got taken in by a family of rats and they trained him to defend them from other cats. So, he actually thinks he’s doing something good. It’s not really his fault.” 

It wasn’t the first time that Charlie had spoken about the cats as if he understood them, but his far-fetched account of story and motive was taking it to another level. 

It occurred to Dennis then, also not for the first time, that Charlie might just have been out of his mind. He might have been a raving lunatic, or maybe drug-addled and delirious. He might have been stealing the cats, or the money he spent on them, or both. He might have been any number of things, but so far there was no option that managed to make sense without spoiling part of the charm about Charlie’s strangeness and so Dennis couldn't say there was an option that he especially liked. 

“Rats?” he said. 

Charlie nodded. “Rats.” 

“Okay,” said Dennis, breathing out hard. “Whatever you say.” 

Charlie shrugged. “Hey man, weirder stuff happens all the time.” 

“Sure,” said Dennis, nodding vacantly. “ _Sure_ it does. So he lost a fight? He seems pretty calm all things considered.” 

“Yeah, he’s been pretty mellow for as long as I’ve had him.” 

“Good,” said Dennis. “Let’s hope he stays that way.” 

Naturally, he did not. 

It was the antiseptic spray that set him off, and being a cat Dennis couldn’t really hold that against him. Charlie had continued petting the animal as Dennis moved its head slowly from side to side, examining the wound without issue, but the second the mist hit its face, it thrashed away from Dennis and almost out of Charlie’s grip. 

“Hold the back of his neck,” Dennis instructed. 

Instead, Charlie decided to keep struggling with his hands on its sides. He had a decent grip, at least, and all the while kept whispering. “ _You’re okay, buddy. Hey, you’re okay._ ” 

It was impressively determined, Dennis could grant him that much. Or maybe it was a side effect of insanity. He was still in the process of figuring out the details, but at least that was something worth doing. 

He realized later, just as Charlie was leaving, just as it became too late, that the one question he had most wanted to ask had slipped right from his mind. It only came back to him after he saw Charlie to the door, as he was watching him walk down the street, just after saying to him _see you next time_. He had realized just then that he had no idea when that would be, even _if_ it would be, and he almost realized how much that bothered him, except that Dee put a stop to those thoughts. 

“So?” she said, rising from her seat. 

Dennis snapped uncomfortably back into the present and stepped away from the door. “So _what?_ ” 

“What’s his deal?” she said, looking out the window in the direction Charlie had gone. 

“I’m still not sure,” said Dennis, looking back toward the window as well though he couldn’t see down the street from there. 

“Well did you ask him about the cats?” 

“I didn’t get the chance,” said Dennis, and shrugged as if he was fine with that. 

Dee had moved around her desk now, was sitting on the edge of it as if anticipating a great show, but the answer he gave made her shoulders sink. “Did you find _anything_ out?” she asked. 

“He likes pirates?” Dennis offered. 

“ _Oh my god._ ” Dee pushed herself away from the desk with a huff, and said, “You are completely useless.” 

“I don’t see you asking him these questions,” said Dennis, growing more annoyed with every word out of her mouth. “What are you even so desperate to know?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Dee. “Maybe... _anything at all._ Like what is he? Is he homeless? Is he a junkie? What’s with him?” 

Dennis rolled his eyes. “Now you’re being ridiculous. He isn’t homeless or he wouldn’t be coming here.” 

“Then why does he look like that?” 

“Like what?” 

“Like he lives under a bridge!” 

“Oh come on, he doesn’t look that bad,” said Dennis. “I mean get him a new jacket, maybe shave, and he’d be fine.” 

Dee had been almost shouting, but her voice dropped then in both volume and pitch. “Are you kidding me?” 

“What?” Dennis said, as if oblivious. “You like the beard?” 

That got her loud again. “You are unbelievable!” 

“I am?” said Dennis. “What do you even have against him?” 

“He’s weird!” She shrilled. “He’s creepy, and he’s dirty, and I don’t like him! I don’t just trust whoever shows up waving around fistfuls of money.” 

“I didn’t say I trust him,” said Dennis, folding his arms across his chest. “But I’m not going to turn down good money.” 

“You have no idea where that money’s coming from.” 

Again, Dennis rolled his eyes. “I don’t ask anybody else how they pay me.” 

Spacing her words out slowly as if talking to a child, Dee said: “No one else has ten cats and pays you out of a goddamn paper bag.” 

“Look,” said Dennis, completely unaffected. “Just because the guy’s a little weird doesn’t mean he’s a thief.” 

“Then where’s the money coming from?” 

“He probably has a job,” said Dennis. “Maybe he works at an animal shelter.” 

“Don’t you think that would have come up by now?” 

“Okay, so maybe it’s something else. That doesn’t mean you have to start coming up with these ridiculous scenarios—“ 

“Oh right,” Dee cut in. “It’s ridiculous. _Trust me! Take this stolen money! It’ll be totally fine and there won’t be any consequences!_ Where have I heard that before?” 

“ _Seriously?_ Is that what this is about? ” Dennis shook his head. “Holding grudges isn’t good for you, Dee. You’ve really got to learn to let things go.” 

She was seething and for just a second he thought she might actually attack him, but then she just said, through tightly barred teeth, “You ruined my life.” 

“I really didn’t,” said Dennis and he smiled to show that he was being quite sincere when he added: “You had that one well under control.” 

Dee made an animal sound and drove the heel of her palm into his shoulder, pushing him back and storming past him toward the front door. He almost said something as she was going, but didn’t feel like wasting his breath. _Let her leave_ , he thought. She would always come back. It’s not like she could afford not to. 

☆ ☆ ☆

It was a Thursday afternoon when Charlie returned with a creature the likes of which Dennis had never seen before. It was filthy, its fur a mix of grey and brown that he suspected might once have been white, and it made the strangest sounds, squeaking frantically as it squirmed in Charlie’s grip. When he tried to set it on the table, it tried to drive its claws into his eye. He dodged, but only narrowly, a single claw scraping his temple. 

“Woah,” said Dennis. “Grab its scruff.” 

But as always Charlie kept struggling instead, managing to hold the animal at arm's length but then he couldn’t manage to lower it to the table. It wasn’t until Dennis finally reached out himself to grab the back of the animal’s neck that Charlie managed to put it down. 

“Thanks,” he said and looked down at the cat that had gone still under his hand his. “I just don’t like doing that cause it seems like it must hurt.” 

“It doesn’t." 

“Are you sure?” 

All Dennis said was “I’m a veterinarian.” 

“Oh yeah,” said Charlie, and smiled as if pleasantly surprised. “I almost forget sometimes, cause you’re like...” but he trailed off, still smiling, and shrugged looking back down at the cat. “I guess it just looks uncomfortable is all.” 

“So many people think that,” said Dennis, keeping to himself that most of them did not wear their naivety as well as Charlie. “It’s fine though. It’s definitely not as uncomfortable as losing an eye.” 

Charlie shrugged again. “I have good reflexes.” 

“Well, I prefer to play it safe,” Dennis said and began to ease the cat towards himself. “So what’s the story this time?” 

“This is the guy I told you about last time,” said Charlie, an enthusiastic smile coming to his face. “We call him Rambo, and he was raised by—“ 

“Rats,” Dennis said, in unison with him. “I remember.” 

The animal certainly looked like it had lived a hard life, he would give Charlie that, and there was something odd about the sounds it had made before, but that didn’t mean anything. 

Charlie continued. “He was guarding this like, colony of rats when I found him.” 

“You’re sure he wasn’t hunting them?” 

“No man, I know it sounds crazy, Frank said the same thing when I told him, but look!” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out— 

“Is that— Do you have cheese in your pocket, Charlie?” 

Charlie placed it just in front of the cat and then placed both hands gently on either side of the animal. “You can let go,” he said. 

Although Dennis was skeptical, he was also already so wrapped up in weird shit that he had lost sight of any reason to argue. So he let go, and the cat made it’s strange squeaking sound again and shrunk away from him, though not out of Charlie’s grip. It sniffed at the cheese first, and then looked suspiciously between the two men, before reaching with one paw to pull the cube closer. It eyed Dennis again for a long moment before finally making up its mind: The cat settled on its hind legs and with both front paws it picked up the cheese, and did not bite it, but began gnawing at one corner. 

“Well shit,” said Dennis and for a long moment, he didn’t know what else to say. Then he asked, “So, you rescued him?” 

“I guess so,” said Charlie, with a crooked smile. 

“From a colony of rats. That can’t have been easy.” Dennis reached for the cat again, catching it by surprise with his hand on the back of its neck again and easing it back towards himself. “Are all your cats rescued?” 

“I do alright with rats,” Charlie shrugged. “The cats aren’t really mine though, I just look after them.” 

“Like a shelter?” asked Dennis as he began to examine the animal. 

“Sort of,” said Charlie and stuck his hands deep into his pockets, looking away over Dennis’s shoulder. 

“Sort of?” said Dennis. 

Charlie just shrugged. 

Dennis drew a deep breath through his nose and nodded. “Okay. So how many have you rescued?” 

“There’s, y'know,” Charlie shook his head, shrugged his shoulders yet again. “There’s a normal amount.” 

Cocking one eyebrow at him, Dennis said flatly “Do you realize this is the tenth cat you’ve brought to me?” 

“Eleven,” said Charlie. 

Dennis raised the other eyebrow. 

Charlie winced. “Is that too many?” 

“It’s a lot for one person to look after—“ 

“It’s not just me,” said Charlie, getting very flustered very fast. “It’s— My roommate sometimes— he helps sometimes and I- I take care of all of them—“ 

“Woah, buddy,” said Dennis reaching over the table with his free hand to touch Charlie’s shoulder. “Take a breath. Relax. I’m just curious.” 

“I’m relaxed,” said Charlie, looking down at Dennis’s hand. “It’s just like, there’s new ones sometimes and it’s hard to get them all in the same place, they move pretty fast, so counting them is kinda hard.” 

With a pat on the shoulder as he withdrew his hand, Dennis said, “Come on, gimme a guess.” 

“There’s probably… I mean..” Charlie looked like he was straining, but whether it was for or against a thought, Dennis couldn’t tell. “I guess there’s probably about… 80?” 

Even Dennis, try as he might, could not keep a straight face through that. “Did you say _80_?” 

“It’s too many isn’t it?” Charlie said, wincing again. 

Although Dennis wanted very badly to say _it’s absolutely unbelievable_ , when he looked at Charlie, he did believe it. He also believed that Charlie was worth keeping around, and so Dennis Reynolds, Doctor of Veterinary Medicine, said: “Who am I to tell you how many cats you should have?” 

Charlie smiled and finally let out the breath he had been holding. “I knew you were cool,” he said suddenly. 

Dennis, because letting it show would have been the opposite of cool, bit back his grin. 

“Frank said you were gonna call the cops on us for sure, but I knew,” Charlie continued. 

That gave Dennis pause. “Who exactly is this Frank?” 

“Oh, he’s my roommate.” 

“Ah,” said Dennis, and realized that he probably should have been able to figure that out. He wanted to say something that didn’t sound stupid next, and he wasn’t sure he really succeeded when he said: “That’s my father’s name.” 

Charlie tilted his head slightly and said “Huh. Weird how that keeps happening.” 

“So, he helps you look after all these cats?” Dennis asked. 

“Kind of,” Charlie replied. “He actually pays for most of this.” 

“He must be...” Dennis could not imagine, barring Charlie himself, the type of person would funnel so much money into feline care. “A _charitable_ soul?” 

“Not really,” said Charlie. “I kinda have to keep talking him into it. He says they’re more work than they’re worth, but I don’t think so though. I just want them to be okay, y’know?” 

“Sure,” said Dennis. “Absolutely. You should probably bring all of them in if you can.” 

“I’m gonna try. I’m doing everything I can for them already.” 

Dennis nodded. “Well, hey, you’re doing good work. This guy needs a good bath and he’s riddled with fleas, but he looks perfectly healthy otherwise. I would cut back on the cheese though,” he added, nodding to the piece still on the table. 

Without a word, Charlie put it back into his pocket. 

Dennis did not see him out at the end of the appointment. Instead, he closed the door to the exam room after Charlie stepped out, and leaned against it thinking _80\. 80 cats. Another 67 left to go._ He couldn’t even guess at how long it would take to see all of them, but as his imagination began to stretch out across that rich, wide realm of possibility, he felt excitement welling in his chest. _67 more visits from Charlie,_ he was thinking. 

It was a moment so good that the inevitability of Dee ruining it, like she does with all good things, didn’t even occur to him until he heard her on the other side of the door. 

“Piss off,” he snapped at the sound of her knocking, but it did not stop. 

“Tell me what happened,” came the sound of his sister’s voice. 

“I did my job. Go do yours.” 

“Let me in.” 

She was _still_ knocking. Dennis growled as he turned around to swing open the door. “What do you want?” 

Dee swung her fist again, hitting nothing this time and her eyes went wide for just a second before awkwardly crossing her arms as if that were what she had meant to do with her hand in the first place. “Did you ask him?” 

“Ask him what?” Dennis huffed. “Am I a mind reader now?” 

“About what he does? About anything?” Dee said, raising her eyebrows. “Or did you just ogle him the whole time?” 

“I do not—“ Dennis tightened his grip on the doorknob almost to the point of pain. “For your information, I did ask, and you were wrong. His roommate pays for it.” 

“His roommate,” said Dee, her expression disbelieving. “Did he say how? Or why?” 

“No, because it wasn’t an interrogation.” 

“And you seriously believe that?” 

“I believe him,” said Dennis. “I have no reason not too.” 

Dee uncrossed her arms again to wave her hands as she kept speaking louder and louder “There are so many reasons! How is some nameless, faceless, mystery roommate who pays all his bills not a reason?” 

“Oh come on, it’s not like that,” Dennis insisted. “First of all, his name is Frank and they—“ 

“ _What?_ ” Dee was so loud that Dennis took a step back without even meaning too. 

“Jesus Christ,” he said, putting a finger to one of his ears. “Are you deaf, bitch? I said his name is Frank.” 

“And that doesn’t alarm you?” she demanded. 

Dennis shrugged. “It’s a common name.” 

Dee stared at him wordlessly, which was an improvement that only lasted a moment. “You need to find out his last name.” 

Sometimes, Dennis thinks, she must just get bored. She must sit at her desk and dream up ways to try to annoy and exhaust him. “Why would I—“ 

“Because that’s our dad’s name!” 

“Yes Dee, I realize that, but our dad is almost sixty. Why would he be living with Charlie? Also, I don't know if it slipped your mind, but he _hates_ us. He’s the last person on earth who would be funding this operation.” 

“Unless he was planning something,” said Dee, because there’s just no winning with her. 

“You’re paranoid,” said Dennis, in a tone that clearly said the argument was over, not that anyone seemed to care. 

“No, I’m trying not to get fucked over again.” 

“And how are we getting fucked over, exactly? We’ve made a shit ton off them already.” 

“It’s an investment. That’s how they get a foot in the door,” said Dee. “Then, when you least expect it, you get fucked.” 

Dennis shook his head, tired of arguing already, and told her “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” And at least for the time being, he believed it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you so much for reading, I really hope you guys are enjoying this as much as I am!! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @[jamesbays](http://www.jamesbays.tumblr.com). Or not, that's cool too. Either way see you back here in (hopefully) a few days!


	3. Chapter 3

It was only ever a few days before Charlie came back again, though to Dennis it felt like much longer. Either way, it was long enough for him to consider what Dee had said about Charlie and Frank and to decide that it was foolish, paranoid, and not worth his time. He made that decision several times over, and then several more for good measure, though no amount of deciding could keep the lingering question at bay for good. It wasn’t that he thought she was right, but she wasn’t all wrong. Charlie was strange, he would give her that, and yes, Frank was worth being suspicious of, but not for the reasons she insisted on. What Dennis did not like was the presence of some other force with untold influence over the most interesting part of his day-to-day. That was reason enough; he didn’t need to be worried that the mystery man in question fit some absurdly vague description of their estranged father. So he did not worry about it, a feat he accomplished mainly by not thinking about it. 

That is not to say that he didn’t think of Charlie. 

Most days at the clinic were dull, though the days between their visits had come to be excruciatingly boring by comparison and Dennis now spent the majority of them wondering when the next visit would be. There was a part of him that liked that Charlie never made an appointment. It found the unpredictability exciting and enjoyed a sense of untold possibility every morning. Another part of him, the part that felt bitterly let down at the end of day after uneventful day, had no patience for all the waiting and the guessing and wanted to know with absolute certainty when he would be back. There was no part of him that did not find itself at some point staring at the door wishing it could will Charlie to walk through it. 

Dennis had, in his lifetime, been given ample opportunity to learn from the old adage _be careful what you wish for_ , and he had marched proudly past each of those opportunities without a second, or often even a first, thought. That certainly was not going to change now. 

It was a nice day, for whatever that was worth, and he was kneeling beside his car, brushing something from the paint above the back wheel with one hand, while the other held a cigarette. High above him was a thousand miles of blue sky and further down the alley there was sunlight. 

Summer was on its way to Philadelphia, and Dennis Reynolds did not care. 

He was bored to death, sighing as he stood up and looked around the alley behind the clinic. This was his kingdom: that which he had lied, cheated and stolen to conquer, and he was certain he ought to feel something, anything at all, about that, but all he really felt was a vague sense of nausea. As he took another drag, the sensation grew worse and the cause drew his attention away from the sorry scene in front of him. 

There was a smell like hot sewage creeping across the late spring air and he could neither pinpoint its source nor mask it with his smoke. He tried waiting a moment for it to pass, but of course, that would have made his life too easy. He ended up throwing his half-finished cigarette to the ground and retreating through the back door into the clinic, hoping it would be better inside. That was also not the case. If anything, the smell intensified as he came down the hallway, and by the time he entered the front room he was shielding his nose and mouth with both hands. 

“Christ, what is that smell?” he shouted, half-muffled, as he came into the room. 

Dee did not reply because she was already throwing up into her garbage can. _Typical_. He did get an answer though; it came from across the room, near the front door, where Charlie was standing with a shaggy, grey cat in his arms. 

“Sorry,” he said, with that halfway grin of his. “I think it might be us.” 

“Charlie!” It burst out of him, overeager even to his own ears and no less embarrassing for being spoken into his palms. In an effort to save himself, Dennis dutifully lowered his hands, smiled despite the act of chemical warfare Charlie was committing in his clinic and said: “Hey, buddy. Welcome back.” 

“Hey,” said Charlie. “Do you have time?” 

“For you?” said Dennis, a single syllable of a laugh making it out before he gagged. “Always. Just let me—“ He pointed behind himself, back down the hallway, but did not finish his sentence before turning and bolting in that direction. 

He went into the exam room and crossed it in several broad steps to reach the window, where he raised the blinds and popped the lock before sliding the glass to the side. He stood there for a long moment, leaning against the mesh screen in the window and breathing the outdoor air. When he turned back around to face the room, he did not stray from his position and he called out for Charlie, who came through the door inside of a second, carrying the cat as well as the smell. 

He paused to close the door with his foot before approaching Dennis, who, with about six feet left between them, held up an open palm and said: “You’re good there.” 

Pausing mid-step, Charlie teetered on one heel, looked awkwardly around him, and then finished the step. 

Dennis waved a hand in front of his nose and said “Jesus, Charlie. What in God’s name have you been doing?” 

“So much stuff,” said Charlie and he took another step forward, holding up the cat. “We found this guy this morning.” 

“In a septic tank?” Dennis demanded, both hands now shielding the bottom of his face. 

“Close,” said Charlie and then with something that sounded strangely like pride he added: “In the sewer.” 

Now that would need an explanation, but first thing’s first: Dennis buried his nose into his elbow and waved Charlie back with one hand. 

“Is it that bad?” he said, frowning down at the cat. 

“Worse,” said Dennis, gagging again.”Can you not smell that?” 

“I guess I’m used to it.” Charlie shrugged and took a step back, and then a second and a third, stopping when Dennis stopped waving him away. 

“The sewer?” Dennis said, and he turned his face toward the window for a breath, before turning back to Charlie and saying again: “ _The sewer?_ How did you even get into the sewer?” 

“Oh, it was actually pretty easy cause we’re both kinda small,” Charlie explained. “Well, Frank’s kinda round, but we manage.” 

“Frank was with you?” He had no idea whether that seemed better or worse. 

“Yeah,” Charlie nodded. “We always go together.” 

“Why?” 

“Just in case.” He shrugged again. “It’s like the buddy system.” 

“No. _Jesus_.” Dennis shook his head. “Why were you in the sewer?” 

“ _Oh_ ,” said Charlie and then like it was the simplest answer in the world, he explained: “We were looking for treasure. We found this guy instead, though. I think I might call him ‘Treasure’.” 

He lifted the cat just slightly as he started talking about it again and Dennis leaned back in equal measure, his shoulder blades pressing into the window screen. It was possible, he thought, that he had actually passed out several minutes ago from holding his breath and had since entered some sort of nightmarish stink-induced delirium. At very least, he could hope. 

Once he had collected himself enough to respond, he said: “Charlie, there is no treasure in the sewers.” 

“Well, not like actual treasure or whatever,” said Charlie. “But you can find all kinds of cool stuff down there. Like, I found this ring once that—“ 

“You’ve done this before?” 

“Sure,” said Charlie. “Lots of times. Frank taught me all kinds of tricks. He’s great at finding stuff, except the thing with him is that he always wants to sell it.” 

“Is that how he makes his money? Charlie, you should not be living with a man who is making you forage through waste for profit.” 

“No, man, it’s not like that,” Charlie said and chuckled. It was a comfort to Dennis to know there was still something too absurd to be true. But then, of course, he kept talking: “He’s already got loads of money. We mostly just do it for the adventure.” 

“The adventure?” said Dennis, in a voice that barely knew what tone to take anymore. “There— You— There are so many adventures you can have without crawling through sewage.” 

“We don’t really _crawl_ —“ 

“Not the point!” 

Charlie frowned. “I feel like you’re not really getting this,” he said. “Do you just wanna look at him?” 

He held the cat out very suddenly toward Dennis, who leaned back farther than should have been possible, a loud tearing sound coming from the place where his elbow had pressed into and then through the window screen. 

“No!” he said, making Charlie frown again until he added: “He’s fine. Totally healthy. I can tell from here.” 

“Are you—“ 

“Totally sure. Hundred percent. Healthiest cat in Philly.” 

Eyeing the cat curiously, Charlie pulled it back towards himself. “Huh,” he said, and smiled though he looked a bit lost, eyes wandering the room. “Cool. Uh, that’s awesome.” 

Dennis was seconds from happily waving them toward the door when Charlie added: “Well, I guess, Frank’s waiting for me to get back, so—” 

“Frank,” said Dennis, who had almost entirely forgotten him in the wake of Charlie’s ridiculous tale. It was when he heard the name again that the finer points of the conversation began catching up with him. As he made the little additions to his mental image of Frank based on what Charlie had said, he found that it was becoming less vague, though somehow more absurd, and that he liked the shape of it less by the second. It brought his mind back to that lingering question of his, and he decided then and there that he was going to have an answer. Again, he said: “ _Frank_. You know, he sounds like quite the character. You should tell me more about him.” 

“Oh, he’s a character,” said Charlie, with a chuckle that got cut short by a soft gasp. Eyes alight, he added: “Hey! I could bring him with me sometime if you wanna meet him.” 

“No!” said Dennis and then in a gentler tone added: “That won’t be necessary. “ 

“You’d like him, though,” Charlie insisted. “And he’d like you for sure.” 

“Yeah...” Dennis pursed his lips and nodded. “I don’t know about that.” 

“Aww come on man, of course he would. You’re like the coolest vet in Philly.” 

“Well, I do my best.” Dennis grinned for just a moment and then, though it pained him tremendously, he said: “But we weren’t talking about me. You were going to tell me about Frank.” 

“Oh yeah,” said Charlie. “I was just saying that he’s waiting for me still. If I make him wait too long there won’t be any eggs left by the time I get back, so…” 

It was _torture_ , Dennis thought, having to bite his tongue every time that he would rather shout _what does that mean_. He turned his head fractionally toward the window behind him and took a breath through his clenched teeth in preparation for what he was going to do next. 

“Wait,” he said suddenly, looking back towards Charlie. “What is that?” 

“What’s what?” said Charlie. looking all around him before realizing that Dennis was looking at the cat. “Is something wrong with him?” 

“It’s probably nothing,” said Dennis, squinting at the animal. “But I should take a closer look, just to be sure.” 

He began to take a step toward the cat but caught himself, turning on his heel and moving right instead. He crossed the room to the counter to retrieve a pair of latex gloves; there was no amount of desperation that would move him to actually touch that animal. Halfway through putting them on, he motioned toward the table. 

Charlie exchanged a curious look with the cat and then gave a half shrug and approached the table, lowering the animal onto it without much struggle for once. Dennis, meanwhile, took a deep breath and fixed the creature with a hard look. It sniffed at the table it was sitting on and did not look back. As he approached, Dennis gave his most casual, least suffocated smile, and said: “This’ll just take a minute. You can keep talking.” 

“Sure,” said Charlie, and without missing a beat began to explain “We do this thing with our eggs where we—” 

“Not about that,” Dennis cut in stiffly. He laughed then, to take the edge off of it, but that came out stiff as well. Still, who could blame him with the cat flicking its tail back and forth, fanning him with its fumes? 

If Charlie was offended, he didn't let it show, just started to say “No, it’s so cool though, man. We—” 

“Why don’t you tell me about how you met?” Dennis cut in, giving another of his practiced smiles. “I bet that’s an interesting story.” 

Staring at him as if it should be plainly obvious, Charlie said: “In the sewer.” 

Dennis was, by that point, so deep in weird shit, that it took a moment of real consideration to decide whether he and Charlie were on the same page, or anywhere even near to it. “Not the cat,” he said and was deeply relieved by Charlie’s reply. 

“Oh, you mean me and Frank?” 

“Yes, I mean you and Frank.” He sighed, only to regret it with his next breath. 

“I mean, it’s not that exciting,” said Charlie. “But if you really want to know…” 

☆ ☆ ☆

They were at the strip club the night that it happened. It was not Charlie’s favourite place, although it wasn't his least favourite either, and this was after all, back in the days before his best friend— that was Mac— was gay, and so it had been where they spent most of their free time when they could afford to. Mostly, they were too broke to even think about the dancers for any length of time, but they were never so broke that they couldn’t buy at least a few drinks, which were the most important part of the whole routine anyway. 

In that way, it was a normal night. In fact, almost everything about the night had been entirely normal. _Too normal_ , if you asked Mac, not that Charlie had. He hadn’t asked about the atmosphere of the club or the people around them or anything except whether they had money for another round, but he had gotten the full rundown on everyone in the room anyway. 

Mac made his judgements based on something he called an ocular patdown, the efficiency of which, if you asked Mac,, was entirely situational and therefore hard to quantify. This, Charlie knew, was a complicated way of calling it almost useless. It never lent Mac any advantages in combat (though that was mostly because he was never actually in combat) but it did on that particular night, lead to the moment when he leaned across the table and said: 

“Okay. Get a load of the fat cat in the corner.” He was staring past Charlie who twisted in his seat to follow his friend's gaze. 

Across the room, alone at a table meant for at least four people, was a small man, smaller than even Charlie, dressed in a black business suit. He wore a crooked hairpiece on his hanging head and was surrounded by an array of empty bottles and glasses. The man did not look up before Charlie turned back toward Mac. 

“Holy shit,” he said. “Did he drink all that himself?” 

“Yeah, dude,” said Mac. “He was going at it before we even got here.” 

“Geez, save some for the rest of us, buddy,” Charlie replied and grinned, quite content to move on from the sorry sight without another thought. 

Mac, however, had a different idea. Rising from his seat, he announced: “We’re going to talk to him.” 

Charlie didn’t move. “Why?” 

Mac leaned down, one hand on the table, the other on the back of Charlie’s chair, and said: “This guy’s been pounding drinks at the same rate all night, and it doesn't look like he’s slowing down anytime soon. I think what’s happening here, is he’s trying to drink himself to death.” 

“Shit,” said Charlie. “Are you sure?” 

Mac nodded with absolute conviction and said: “Totally. Old rich guys do it all the time.” 

This gave Charlie pause. “How do you know he’s rich?” 

“Look at the suit,” Mac said. “The hairpiece. He’s obviously got money.” 

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Charlie insisted. “If he’s rich then why is he trying to drink himself to death? If his life’s so bad why doesn’t he just buy a new one?” 

“Ideas like that,” Mac replied. “Old, rich guys get treated like second-class citizens by people like you and me all the time. Everybody hates them just for having money and power, and it’s actually depressing as shit. I see it all the time at work: guys like him, trying to drink themselves out of existence because of people like us.” 

Charlie was not sure that he believed that, but he could tell at least that Mac did. “So you want to stop him?” he asked. 

“No,” said Mac. “I want to get on his tab.” 

Now that was an idea Charlie could get behind. He was about as confident in Mac’s ability to make it happen as he was in the ocular patdown, but even if they crashed, at least they were starting with an actual, honest to god, good idea for once. “So how are we going to do that?” 

“Easy,” Mac said, though he believed that of most things he hadn’t yet done. “Old, rich guys are some of the most oppressed people in America; this guy’s probably got all kinds of problems. All we’ve gotta do is listen. So, we go over there, get him talking about Vietnam or whatever, and show the poor guy some sympathy for once. Then, once we win him over, he returns the favour.” 

“What if he wasn’t in Vietnam?” Charlie asked. 

“Then he’ll talk about something else,” said Mac, standing upright once more. “This isn’t that complicated. Are you coming or not?” 

From where he was seated, Charlie could see all sorts of complications, but instead of listing them he just said “Obviously,” and followed his friend across the club. 

When they reached the other table, Mac took the seat across from the stranger like his name was written on it, and before Charlie could sit beside him, he was introducing them both. 

“Hi,” he said, beaming at the man, who lurched forward in his seat but said nothing. “I’m Mac. This is Charlie. We couldn’t help but notice you from across the bar and—“ 

“No way,” the older man grunted. He raised his fist as if to show that even if he couldn’t get the rest of the words out, he was serious. Except, then he did get them out, spittle flying from his lip as he said: “I don’t do threeways unless there's a broad involved.” 

“No. _No_ ,” said Mac, shaking his head vehemently. “My friend and I aren’t gay—” 

“ _Well_ ,” said Charlie, and took an elbow to the ribs in exchange. 

“Would you let me do my thing?” Mac hissed, glaring at him. 

The older man grabbed a glass from the table and lifted it to his mouth without seeming to notice that is was empty. Mac cleared his throat. 

“My friend and I aren't homosexuals,” he explained. “We’re kind-hearted souls reaching out to you in your time of need in spite of the prejudice that we’ve been taught by society.” He smiled at the man, waiting for him to get it, but received a vacant stare in response. 

So, Charlie chimed in: “We wanna talk about your problems.” He was trying to be helpful and got kicked under the table for it this time. 

“This isn’t an intervention,” Mac hissed. 

“I’m just trying to do your plan,” Charlie hissed back. 

“That not how it works.” 

“You want problems?” the old man said suddenly, oblivious to their bickering, almost oblivious to them; he was staring down into the glass he was holding, which he must have come to realize was empty. “I got problems. I wasted 25 years of my life on two ungrateful, thieving bastards, who don’t do nothing but _lie_ ,” he began to punctuate his words by striking the empty glass against the tabletop. “And _cheat_ , and they _steal_ my _money_ —” 

“Woah,” said Charlie, reaching out to pull the glass from his hand. “Slow down, man.” 

Pulling it back, the old man said: “You’re telling me to slow down?” 

“Just for a minute,” said Charlie. “Just like, relax.” 

He stared at the old man, who stared back, head bobbing slightly, hand still firmly on the glass. It lasted a long time, and he did not know what to say, though he had to say something, so eventually he said: “I’m Charlie.” 

“I already introduced you,“ Mac said, but before he’d even finished, the old man was responding. 

“Frank,” he said, and let go of the glass with a grunt. After a brief pause to examine some of the other glasses on the table, all of which were empty, he looked at Charlie again and said: “Y’know, you got balls, kid.” 

“Uh, this was my idea,” said Mac. “So, if we’re gonna talk about balls—“ 

Frank turned his wordless stare toward Mac for a long moment and then said: “Who’re you?” 

“ _Mac_ ,” he said, once again. “It was my idea to come talk to you.” 

“Well, what d’you want?” 

Mac sighed heavily. “We just thought that you could use some company, and since we’re two… sympathetic…” 

He looked at Charlie, who nodded and said: “Caring…” 

“Caring,” Mac repeated. “...kind, young men, that we would be the right people to keep you company.” 

Frank eyed him suspiciously. “You sure you’re not whores?” 

“Pretty sure,” said Charlie. 

“Totally sure,” said Mac. 

Frank shrugged anyway and said: “That’s what they all say. So what the hell d’you do then?” 

“I work at a bar,” Mac announced. He said it with pride, though he didn’t say anything else about it. 

“I’m kind of between gigs,” said Charlie. “What about you?” 

Frank shook his head and reached for one of the bottles on the table. He held it up, gave it a swirl, then overturned it above his open mouth. “I used to be like you,” he said, as he dropped the bottle over his shoulder. “You poor bastards don’t know how good you’ve got it. Nobody uses you for shit cause you don’t have shit.” 

Mac blinked, leaning back in his seat. “I have shit,” he said, voice beginning to rise. “I have all kinds of shit.” 

“I don’t,” said Charlie with a shrug. “Not really.” 

“See!” Frank said, clapping his hands together once and then pointing at Charlie with both of them. “This kid knows what I’m talking about. You got the good life. You got the life that I want.” 

“I’ll trade,” Mac offered. 

“If you want it so bad you should just do it,” said Charlie, who was still not sure he understood how too much money was supposed to be a problem. “I mean, nothing says you have to be rich. You could always give your money away.” 

“Now, if you’re giving money away—“ said Mac. 

“I ain’t giving it away,” Frank snapped. “I’m drinking it away.” To emphasize this, he began to wave and to call for another round. He failed to catch anyone’s attention but did nearly topple his stool when he stood up with both feet on its bottom rung. 

Charlie managed to get a hand on his shoulder, steadying him out, but Frank shrugged him off as soon as he stopped falling. “Vultures,” he spat. “All of you.” 

“Woah,” said Charlie. “I’m just trying to help.” 

Frank scoffed. “How’re you supposed to help me?” 

“We’re—“ Mac managed, before Charlie spoke over him. 

“We could help you drink,” he offered. “Get you through the whole process faster and get you back to the good life.” 

Once more, Frank looked at him for a long time before answering, but when he did, it was brimming with absolute drunken delight. “You,” said Frank, pointing an unsteady finger at Charlie. “Are a good kid. I like you. What’s your name, kid?” 

“It’s Charlie,” he said, for the third time, which must have been the time that it finally took hold, because Frank said it back to him, a moment later, with a laugh. 

“What’re you drinking, Charlie?” 

“Whatever you’re having, man,” he replied with a grin. “I’m just happy to help.” 

“I am too,” Mac added, though Frank did not seem to notice. 

“More people oughta be like you,” he said and then began trying to wave down drinks again, with much the same results as before. 

“I‘m like him,” said Mac. “I’m just like him. We’re practically the same person, except I’m way stronger. And smarter. And—“ 

“And you never shut up,” said Frank. 

Mac frowned at this, and Charlie expected him to say something in his own defence, but then Frank pulled out his wallet and both of them fell silent watching his hands. 

Taking out a $50 bill, he slapped it on the table in front of Mac and said: “Booze!” 

Mac eagerly grabbed up the bill, beaming at Charlie before retreating to the bar, leaving him alone with Frank. 

“So...” Charlie said into the silence that followed. “You got kids, man?” 

Frank craned his neck, trying to follow Mac on his way across the room. “Huh?” he said, and then before Charlie could repeat himself: “Kids? _Pfff._ Bastards is what they are, and I ain’t got none anymore.” 

“ _Ummm?_ ” said Charlie, who suddenly found himself just as invested as Frank in how far away Mac was. “What, uhhh… What happened to your kids?” 

Even as he asked it, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to know the answer, but he had to say something and it was all he had to say for Frank to launch into the whole convoluted story. 

Charlie only really caught the basics of it, if he was being honest: Frank had two adult children who had spent along time taking a lot of money from him through an elaborate series of frauds and forgeries. Upon finding out, he disowned them. He had cut all ties and hatched a plan to give away all his money to charity, then midway through a celebratory drink, he hatched a better one and so here he was. 

“And y’know what’s the worst of it?” he said when he had finished. “I don’t even even know how much the bastards took from me. It coulda been millions.” 

“Yeah?” said Charlie, as he tried to imagine what would have to happen to his life for him to be able to misplace a million dollars. He couldn’t, but according to Frank it was just the worst. 

It did not stir a lot of sympathy in him, but it did tip him off to one important fact: Frank’s kids had not taken all of his money. In fact, he had far more than what they had stolen and more still than he and Charlie had any hope of drinking through in one night. It was more, Charlie thought, than they might have made it through if they had devoted their whole lives to that goal, although he was certainly willing to try. 

So they did keep trying, and in the meantime Frank kept talking. Mac was sent to the bar over and over again while Frank rambled on about his younger, better days, when he was broke and pathetic ‘just like them’, and that was how the night carried on, at least until the club closed and they had been forced, blind-drunk, back into the world. But that was another story for another time. 

☆ ☆ ☆

Midway through Charlie’s story, Dennis could almost swear he heard the telltale snap of some final, definitive piece falling into place, though it might just have been his teeth coming together in his tightening jaw. His stomach was twisted into a knot, but it had been since well before the story started. 

“Well,” he said when it finally ended, and he was surprised enough that for a moment he did not know what else to say. Then he came back to his senses and said the most important thing he possibly could: “Cat’s fine. You can take it away.” 

“So nothing’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” said Dennis. “You’re good to go.” 

“Awesome,” Charlie said and he began to reach for the cat but stopped short. “Oh, I should probably still pay you,” he said, reaching into one pocket, and then into another, and then— 

“It’s fine,” said Dennis. He could feel a sense of panic creeping over him, and though he was fairly certain he could outreason it, he would need to catch his breath before he did anything. “This one’s on me. Just take it.” 

“For real?” said Charlie, but Dennis did not answer; he was already walking away, peeling off his gloves and letting them fall to the floor as he returned to the safe harbour of the window. “Thank you so much.” 

“No problem,” said Dennis, forehead pressed uselessly to the window screen as he waited for his nausea to pass. “You don’t want to keep Frank waiting.” 

“Yeah, I should probably go. Thanks, though. For everything.” 

“Yeah.” Dennis shut his eyes. He was waiting for the sound of footsteps, for the sound of the door clicking shut, for some sign of the earth slowing it’s wild and merciless spin just long enough to let him catch his breath. When it came, in the form of the door clicking shut behind Charlie, he did not waste a second. 

He drove his hands into the tear his elbow had made in the screen and pried it further apart until it was torn from one corner to the other. He tore the bottom half almost entirely out of the frame and threw himself halfway out the window, his head and arms leaning out into the street. He took deep, gasping breaths of the outdoor air and felt a little bit closer to sanity, but not much. He had not yet caught his breath and was still being hit by the implications of the story. 

Dee had been more right than he had thought. Still, she couldn’t possibly have been right about everything. About Frank, maybe, but not about Charlie. He could not believe it, and the longer it weighed on him the more sure he was that he _did not_ believe it. It didn’t make sense that Charlie would tell such an incriminating story if he’d had any idea who Dennis was in relation to Frank, and even less so if the two of them were planning some kind of revenge. If Frank was using Charlie, he would have warned him about that much, surely. 

But Frank wasn’t using Charlie, at least not for this. 

_Obviously_ , Dennis thought, _it’s the other way around_. Charlie was crafty, more clever than he seemed. You might even say he was, in a way, picking up where Dennis himself had left off. His methods, however, were different. He wasn’t stealing in the careful and calculated way that Dennis and his sister had. There was no elaborate, even artful, series of frauds, or at least not of the kind that could be traced. It was daylight robbery and it was remarkable. He felt almost proud to be a part of it. 

He was still hanging out the window when the door opened again, and he jumped at the sound, knocking his elbow into the frame as he pulled himself back inside. He hissed as he swung around to face whoever was in the doorway, and shouldn’t have been surprised to see his sister. 

Dee was wearing a surgical mask with her hair half caught in one side. She pulled the strap from behind her ear and spat some stray hair away from her mouth, then sniffed the air and grimaced. “Ugh. What the hell was that?” 

“What was what?” said Dennis, rubbing at his elbow though it didn’t really help. 

“Are you kidding?” said Dee, the mask still hanging from one ear. 

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” 

She crossed her arms. “You _look_ like you were just trying to break out of your own building.” 

Dennis squared his shoulders in front of the window and crossed his own arms. “I was getting some fresh air.” 

“No shit,” said Dee. “Was he rolling in crap before he came in here?” 

Dennis rolled his eyes. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad.” 

“Right. Of course.” She nodded, let her eyes drift away from him. “So you just couldn’t get the screen out, or…?” 

“I can open my window however the hell I want,” said Dennis. “If you don’t like it you can leave.” 

“I’m not leaving until you talk,” Dee said, uncrossing her arms and coming into the room. “You can’t say that was normal. You can’t tell me you still don’t think there’s anything wrong with him.” 

“I can, actually,” said Dennis. “Because I don’t.” 

And, all things considered, he meant it. So the whole expedition into the sewers was a little concerning, but it was mostly Frank’s fault. As far as Charlie was concerned, it marked him as adventurous, driven, but susceptible to influence. That Frank was the one with the influence over him was a problem, but it wasn’t a problem with Charlie. _Not really._ Besides, Charlie had his own influence over Frank, which Dennis figured was enough to balance the proverbial scales. 

“You are hopeless.” Dee had stopped by the table and was leaning on it when she looked down and her face twisted into a grimace. She pushed herself away from the table, wiped her hand on her jeans, and approached her brother instead. “What about Frank? Did you find out anything else about him?” 

“Nothing I didn’t already know,” said Dennis with a partial shrug. “He’s just some guy who likes cats.” 

This, of course, was not something that he believed and while Dee probably wouldn’t believe it either, she was just as likely to believe him about the truth. She would hear one word about Frank and lose her mind again. However, what she didn't know couldn’t hurt her, nor could she hurt his plans with it, so when she asked whether he actually expected her to believe that, he said firmly: “Yes, because it’s true. I have proof.” 

“What proof?” 

“I found out his name.” 

“Aha!” Dee stabbed at his chest with one of her bony fingers. “You said you didn’t know anything.” 

“Anything new,” he said. “I already knew your theory was insane. Now, I have proof.” 

Looking preemptively unimpressed, Dee said: “So what’s his name?” 

Having reached as deep into his imagination as he could in the few seconds he was given, Dennis put on a confident face and said: “Smith.” 

Instead of admitting defeat like she was supposed to, Dee laughed right in his face. “It’s what?” 

“Smith,” he said again. “What’s funny about that?” 

“Oh, nothing,” she said. “Just that you think I’ll believe it” 

Sometimes Dennis wonders if she acts like this just to annoy him. “Why would I even lie? Wouldn’t I be in just as much trouble as you if your crazy idea was true?” 

In that infuriating _gotcha!_ tone she takes when she thinks she has any idea what she’s talking about, she said: “Because of Charlie.” 

When she said it, he felt every inch of his skin go hot with something that felt like anger and like embarrassment, and which he would have found was actually both if he had not stomped the feeling down and said impassively: “What about Charlie?” 

“You like him.” 

“He’s like half my business, of course I like him.” 

“Not what I meant. You _like_ him.” 

He opened and closed his mouth several times before he could get a response out. “I don’t— That has nothing to do with…” He trailed off into a breathy laugh. “I mean, is this middle school, Dee?” I ‘like him’? What is that?” 

“You do.” The smug look on her has was intolerable. 

“This is not about Charlie,” he snapped. “It is about Frank and about how you were wrong. Now will you just admit that and stop with your crazy ideas?” 

Nodding slowly, lips pursed, her eyes moved off into the middle distance, and then she said: “Okay. How’s this?” She put a hand on his shoulder and took another step forward, leaning in like she was going to whisper in his ear or maybe tear his throat out with her teeth, and said: “I was wrong for thinking you would use your brain for even a minute. I should have known better. Now I do.” 

“Dee—“ 

“By the way,” she said, leaning back enough to look squarely at him. “You smell like shit.” 

She gave him a smile and a pat on the shoulder as she stepped back and then turned for the door. 

“Okay, that’s not fair. Everything in here— _Hey!_ ” But she was already gone. “You don’t have to be a bitch about it,” Dennis shouted after her. 

There was no response, but after a moment passed, he heard the front door slam. 

No one one was there to hear him say _well that’s just dramatic_ but he said it out loud anyway. Then he rolled his eyes. _Let her be as mad as she wants_ , she was still half wrong, which was as good as all wrong when you really got down to it. Maybe she would even be mad enough to stay gone this time. It happened every so often, though she always came crawling back. Even if it only lasted a few days, he thought that it might have been nice to get a break from her. Dennis never had such easy luck though, and the next day she was back, along with all his other problems. 

The days that came after were no better: Dee was no less irritating and Dennis was no more able to keep his mind on track and away from Charlie. His brain had gone to liquid and the other man had run like blood through every ounce, transforming it entirely. Sure the basic substance was still there, but every drop of it was polluted. Sure you could still see through it, but it was thick and hazy, _all red_ , if you cared for the blood metaphor, which Dennis did. He cared less for the realization that he was now waxing poetic about the man with 80 cats, but if that were the worst of his worries he would have been happy. He certainly preferred it to the new fears he had to contend with. 

He could handle knowing about Frank, about the strange symbiotic relationship he had with Charlie. He didn’t like it, but it didn’t worry him. What worried him was what would happen if Frank found out about his own relationship with Charlie, and how he was going to prevent that, how he was going to keep Charlie for himself. 

Not for the first time, Dennis found himself wondering how he might go about stealing something precious from his father. This time, however, he was not going to get caught. This time, moreover, Dee would have nothing to do with it. _This time_ , he swore, his plans would play out perfectly, and that would happen just as soon as he had any goddamn idea what they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re back! I can’t believe how long it’s been. God, did I ever blow the original deadline but oh well, sometimes it’s like that I guess. I basically skinned the finished draft that I had written and restarted from scratch, which made it a lot long and a lot more fun. I plan to do with the rest of the story so it’ll probably take a while, but I’m really excited about it and I hope you are too!
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading and you can also find me @jamesbays on tumblr.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> well, here we are! sorry it took so long, I had some stuff going on (travel, i'm moving soon, ect.) and on top of that i ended up moving a big chunk of what i had written for this chapter to the next one. anyway, this chapter is dee's first chapter and i have less practice writing about her than dennis so i hope do her justice. and i hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> **CH4 CW: DRUG USE**

“Shall I not hate them, who… when...” Dee fumbled and her eyes flickered back across the page. _Was it when or then?_

When she found her place on the page again and realized it was neither, she cursed and dropped the monologue on her desk. She hated doing all that old timely shit, where everyone talks like a dickhead and no one can just come out and say what they mean. 

She read the words again, slow and deliberate, direct from the page: “Shall I not hate them who abhor me? I will keep no terms with my enemies. I am miserable and they shall share my wretchedness.” _Jesus, what a mouthful_. 

She was halfway through the monologue and she was stuck. She did Frankenstein in high school so it should have been easy for her, and it would have been— she could still do the voice, probably still had the costume somewhere— it was just a matter of getting all the words in the right order. 

It was easier last time because they had done it as a musical, which was the right way to go if you asked Dee. She was seriously considering just singing her old song for the audition That would show them that Frankenstein could actually be good. Her mouth began to move with the words, not singing, but reciting them slowly, like a playground rhyme being drummed up from distant memory. She was just about to reach the chorus when she heard the door open and jumped in her seat. 

Standing in the doorway, a frizzy, grey cat in his arms, was Charlie. ”Hey,” he said. “Am I interrupting?” 

“Yes,” Dee said sharply. “You know you can make an appointment right?” 

“I know,” said Charlie. “I just don’t usually know when I’m gonna get to come down here. And Dennis doesn’t seem to mind.” 

“He wouldn’t.” 

“So,” said Charlie, approaching the desk. “Were you on the phone just now or…?” 

“I was reading a script,” said Dee, tapping two fingers on the monologue laying in plain view on the desk. “I have an audition next week.” 

“You’re an actor?” said Charlie. He did that every so often, tried to make conversation with her before seeing Dennis. Usually, she had no time for it. Usually, he asked about things she didn’t care about. 

“Well,” she said. “I prefer _performer_. I do more than just act, but, if you want to say that...” She shrugged. 

“That’s cool,” said Charlie, and he looked like he meant it. “What’s the part?” 

“Frankenstein’s monster,” she said, raising a hand to indicate the audience that would eventually gather for her. “Live on stage.” 

“Huh,” said Charlie, nodding slowly. “Wasn’t he like, a dude?” 

Dee let her hand fall back into her lap. “Actually, he was a bunch of dudes. Old, dead dudes, all stitched together. But that’s the part you’ve got a problem with?” 

“I didn’t—“ said Charlie. “I just meant, like… Y’know?” 

“I really don’t,” said Dee. “Anyway, I have to get this memorized, so if you need something could you, _y’know?_ ” 

“Uhh, sure,” said Charlie, looking at the animal in his arms. It didn’t look back. “So this is Mittens, and I named him that because—“ 

“Let me guess,” Dee said without enthusiasm. “It’s got white paws?” 

“Well, yeah,” said Charlie. “He does, but that’s not why. It’s actually cause he ate a pair of kitten mittens.” 

Dee blinked. “Excuse me?” 

“ _Well_ ,” said Charlie, somehow making it a three syllable word. “Basically, Frank had a sort of a gravy situation last night and there was some spilling, sort of on and around the whole kitten mitten operation. But, what were we gonna do? Waste it? So we go looking for some bread to clean it up and by the time we get back, this guy had already taken care of everything.” He smiled with something strangely like pride. 

It took a moment to figure out what to say to that and all Dee managed, in the end, was: “Kitten mittens?” 

“Oh!” said Charlie, with a sudden flare of enthusiasm. “They’re my invention. They’re these special mittens for cats to make them more quiet. We’re working on getting them trademarked.” 

“Right,” said Dee, eyebrows raised. “Good luck with that.” 

She wasn’t sure what part of that Charlie took to mean _tell me everything_ , but for whatever reason, he kept talking. Dee wasn’t paying attention though, she was watching the cat and wondering where it came from. how many more there were, and how he could still be making additions to his insane collection. 

“Where’d you find him?” she asked, breaking the flow of his rambling and making him stumble over his words. 

“I, uh— Well…” He trailed off, eyes narrowing. “Under the... It was by the… Y’know what? I don’t remember.” 

She gave him a hard look. “You don’t remember where you were last night?” 

“Oh,” Charlie chuckled. “I didn’t find him last night, that was just when he ate the kitten mittens.” 

Dee nodded. “Okay, so just to recap: Your cat ate not one, but two mittens and your first thought was to change its name?” 

“You guys were closed. What was I supposed to do?” He shrugged as much as he could with the cat in his shoulder. “Besides, it fit better than Socks.” 

“Socks?” said Dee. “Does it just eat whatever footwear it can find?” 

“What? No, we named him that cause of his paws. How would he eat a whole sock? That’s crazy.” 

“Is it?” Dee said and then rose swiftly from her seat without waiting for an answer. She walked down the hall and Charlie stayed where he was, watching from the edge of the hallway while Dee stuck her head into the office. 

Dennis was behind his desk, looking down at his hands which were in his lap. She could not tell what he was doing and she paused to watch him, less because she cared and more because for half a second it looked like he was _praying,_ and that would have meant that at least one of them had finally cracked. In the end, she didn’t manage to figure it out, but she did miss her chance to make him jump. 

He looked up sharply, glaring at her before she had the chance to say anything. “ _You_ ” he said suddenly. 

“I didn’t do anything,” Dee said, although if Dennis had already decided to be pissy, it wouldn’t really matter what she’d done. 

“Fingernails,” said Dennis, and raised a hand to wave her towards him. 

She raised an eyebrow, looked down at her nails, short and clean and painted black, and then looked at her brother. 

“Come here,” he said impatiently. 

Dee stepped into the room and as she came around the side of the desk, she could see what was struggling with. He held up a zip-sealed bag, less than the size of her palm and probably worth $200. 

“Open this,” he ordered. 

Dee rolled her eyes but did it anyway. Her nails weren’t any longer than his, but her hands were steadier. As she opened the bag, she dipped her finger into it and Dennis reached out to grab it immediately. Rising from his seat, he lunged halfway across the desk as Dee twisted away from him, but she held the bag at arm's length while her free hand rubbed at her gums. He tried to reach her outstretched hand but could only reach her forearm which he locked his fingers around. He was trying to bend her arm towards him while she was pushing her other elbow into the side of his face when Charlie poked his head into the room. 

Dee snapped to attention the second she saw him, arms coming down stiffly by her sides. Dennis grabbed her wrist, twisting it until she yelled and opened her hand for him snatch the bag. 

From the doorway, Charlie said: “Um?” 

“Charlie!” said Dennis, shoving past Dee to get to him. The hand that was holding the bag dipped into his pocket, but the other reached out toward Charlie. 

“Hey,” he said. “Am I, uh, interrupting?” 

“Never,” said Dennis, as his hand found Charlie’s shoulder. He looked at Dee. “You didn’t tell me Charlie was here.” 

“I was getting to it,” she said. 

“Sorry about her,” said Dennis, ignoring when she rolled her eyes in response. “Come with me.” He cocked his head toward the door and proceeded to guide Charlie back out of his office. 

Whatever. Dee didn’t want to hang out in his stupid, tiny office anyway. She walked out behind them, watched them turn into the room across the hall, Dennis’s hand never leaving Charlie’s shoulder. _And he thinks he’s so subtle._

_It’s pathetic._

Although that wasn’t really true, she mused as she returned to her desk, and that was the problem at the heart of the problem: he’s just doesn’t think. The man flat out refuses to do it. 

The worst part, or the best, depending on what you were trying to achieve, was that he assumed everyone around him was the same way. Take Dee, for instance: he thought that she was paranoid, hysterical, blinded by an old grudge. That she was running on feelings and assumptions and not actually paying attention. But Dee had been paying attention since the start. 

From the first time Charlie crashed the clinic, Dee knew that something was wrong with him, though it wasn’t until early in the third week of his visits that she figured out exactly what. Dennis practically gave it to her when he first told her about Frank, whose name he said like it meant nothing to him, like it didn’t answer all her questions about Charlie, or where he’d come from, or why he kept coming back. Like she was as big of an idiot as he was. 

That was the same day that she first followed Charlie home, or tried to at least. He’d left too far ahead of her and by the end of the first block, she could see no trace of him and had no clue which way to go. She’d spent fifteen minutes taking mostly random corners, hoping for any luck at all to be on her side, but she found nothing on that walk. Even still, it had been worth it to get away from Dennis, who was almost always the reason she left, and who couldn’t do anything about it if he wanted to. Who could he ever hope to replace her with? Anyone else would leave for good the second they got a sense of what he was like. 

It wasn’t entirely his fault the next time she walked out, but he certainly didn’t help. Mostly it was the smell that did it. She didn’t even want to know where Charlie had been or what he’d been doing, she just wanted to get away from it. It was when she went outside that she realized it wouldn’t be that easy. He had left several minutes ahead of her, but the smell still hung in the air, all around the clinic around the clinic, and probably everywhere else he had been. Probably all the way back to whatever bridge he lived under. It was worth finding out. 

She had no trouble tracking him this time; you couldn’t lose that trail if you wanted to, and she followed it all the way to its end, which was closer than she had expected and also more of an actual building. She couldn’t be sure which apartment was his, but even without the smell, she would’ve known she had the right place by the half a dozen cats lingering around the front end. Half of them scattered as she started to cross the street and when she reached the sidewalk, so did the other half, all of the disappearing around the corner into what looked like an alley. Ahh, she thought as she watched them go, that seems more like Charlie. 

She tried not to make a habit of hanging around in strange alleyways, but she wouldn’t solve any problems by coming this far and then leaving, so she braced herself and stepped around the corner. Of course, it wasn’t enough, but nothing would have been. 

Everywhere she looked there were cats: running up and down the alley, perched on dumpsters and trash bags and window sills, appearing and disappearing through every gap and crevice in the usual refuse of the alley. The longer she looked, the more there seemed to be, and it felt like a long time that she stood there, not knowing what to do. 

Was she supposed to call animal control? That seemed harsh. The cats hadn’t done anything wrong, after all. It was Charlie who was the problem, and there was no trace of him in sight. There was also no trace of Frank or any other human presence, and that was the especially skin-crawling part of the dawning sensation of being watched. 

Not wanting to panic, she looked around slowly. A few of the cats on the ground had already turned their curious eyes up to her, but that wasn’t what was giving her the creeps. The feeling came from across the alley, from the dumpster. There were maybe five cats sitting on top of it, fur all the same dingy white, eyes all transfixed on Dee. She looked at them and they looked back, unblinking, unmoving, and deeply unsettling. Then one of them meowed. 

Almost instantly, a series of answering wails rang out from across the alley. For every cat that made a sound, a half dozen more replied in kind, building within seconds to a racket that would have been threatening even if they’d all stayed where they were, which was not the case. 

As the noise continued to echo around the alley, one of the cats jumped down from the dumpster and began to walk slowly but deliberately towards her. Many of the cats on the ground took no notice, though several of them did and followed suit. Some of them walked behind the first cat, while others ran ahead only to double back, racing circles around the advancing pack. More still looked on from where they were, though Dee did not stay long enough to know how many. 

She darted back across the street and twenty feet down the block to where there was a station wagon double-parked beside the curb. She ducked behind it, looking back over the hood at the mouth of the alley, spewing cats into the street, all wailing and pacing and turning circles around each other like a pot about to boil over. It was one of the strangest things she’d ever seen, although she realized as she looked on, that it didn’t actually prove anything she hadn’t already known. 

It was something though, a starting point maybe, something to building a plan around. She could come back and confront Charlie in a place where Dennis couldn’t intercept. Or she could skip all the useless talk and just get rid of the cats, and by extension, Charlie. The only struggle would be to keep herself from solving the problem before she could prove to Dennis that it even existed. 

That was a question she still had not answered by the time Charlie came back to the clinic with a cat that he called Mittens, nor by the time she’d offloaded both of them on Dennis, but she did have problems of her own to deal with, after all. So that was what she continued to do for the few short minutes she had to herself before Dennis came back down the hallway calling her name. 

“Dee!” he said, as he wheeled into the room. “Clear my schedule.” 

Without looking up Dee said: “It’s empty.” 

“Then go put on your scrubs,” he said without missing a beat. “We’ve got a surgery to perform.” 

Dee raised her eyes briefly from the script, absorbed none of her brother's urgency or enthusiasm, and said: “We what?” 

“Charlie’s cat ate some slippers or some shit,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I didn’t really get that part, but anyway, I need to get it out. So.” He fixed her with an expectant look. 

“So?” 

“So, I need an assistant,” he said. “So, hop to it.” He motioned with both hands for her to start moving, but Dee was not going anywhere. 

“Too bad,” she said, looking down once more, though she couldn’t read anything with Dennis nagging her. “I’m not doing that again.” 

“Oh my god,” Dennis said with a huff. “Do not be a bitch right now, all you need to do is hold things.” 

She looked up again, glaring at him now. “The last time you said that, I ended up elbow deep in a dog.” 

He scoffed. “That is an exaggeration.” 

“It is not.” 

“Well, this is a cat,” he offered as if that were any consolation. “I doubt your hands would even fit inside it.” 

“Great,” said Dee, with a tight-lipped, mirthless grin. “I’m still not doing it.” 

Dennis glanced back down the hall and then leaned forward, one hand on the desk, face only inches from hers by the time he stopped. “Dee,” he said in a hushed voice. “An animal could die if you don’t help me.” 

“And it will die if I do,” she replied. “So I think I’m gonna sit this one out.” 

“Shh!” Dennis hissed, looking back down the hallway. In a harsh whisper, he said: “That was one time you bitch, and we wouldn’t have those problems if you would just do your goddamn job.” 

“That is not my job,” she said. “It’s not even yours. You’re just a freak.” 

“I am a veterinarian,” said Dennis, firm and indignant, stressing every syllable. 

Dee nodded, and replied just as pointedly: “You’re not a surgeon.” 

He scoffed. “Just because I don’t have some overpriced certification doesn’t mean I’m not qualified.” 

Dee pursed her lips, made a humming sound. “I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what that means.” 

“I know what I’m doing,” said Dennis. 

“Then do it yourself,” said Dee. 

“Fine,” he said, suddenly standing back up. “I will.” 

Dee had often thought that it would be nice to be even half as insane as her brother. She imagined it would liberating in almost every way and maybe best of all it would be so much easier to leave him to his own destructive devices. Of course, on the other hand, she was also fairly sure that if at least one of them weren’t a human being, they would probably both be dead by now. 

She sighed. “Look, I know you just live for the chance to cut something up, but shouldn’t you run some sort of test or something first.” 

“What test?” said Dennis. “It’s pretty straightforward: I cut it open, take the shoe out, sew it up. Done.” 

Dee shook her head. “What about Frank?” She asked, not that she expected Dennis to budge on that topic, but she had to try. 

“What about him? What does he have to do with any of this?” 

“You know he’s probably just waiting for you to do something stupid like this, right?” 

Dennis nodded slowly, a contemplative look on his face. “So, just to be clear,” he said. “You think that Frank, a man whose identity we haven’t even confirmed, by the way, is now feeding shoes to cats so he can— What? Sue me for taking them out? And _I’m_ the crazy one?” 

“Yeah, you are,” said Dee. “Because you think all of this is just normal.” 

“It is!” He insisted. “You’re just paranoid. Nothing’s going to happen, and even if it did, he’ll sign a waiver. That’s what they’re for.” 

“Oh good idea,” said Dee, and she smiled then with genuine amusement. “I’ll print one off, and you just go explain to Charlie that his cat might die. Tell me how he takes it.” 

Dennis glared, shushing her again. “So what the hell am I supposed to do?” he demanded. 

“Send him somewhere else. Somewhere they can—“ 

“Not happening,” he said. 

“Then good luck,” said Dee. 

Dennis turned, began to walk away, but stopped before rounding the corner. He raised one hand slowly, open palm forming a fist that shook in the air as if he did not know what to do with it, and then suddenly he drove it sideways into the wall 

_“Goddamnit_ ,” He said, several times over and barely above a whisper, before looking back over his shoulder and saying: “Find me somewhere else, _now_.” 

Dee flashed a smug grin and did just that. It wasn’t hard, all she had to do was google it, and she was done well before he came back telling Charlie whatever he told him. 

He didn’t even step all the way into the room, just leaned around the corner from the hallway and said: “Hey Dee, I need a cat carrier too.” 

“Find one yourself,” said Dee. “I’m on the phone.” 

He stared at her for a moment before saying flatly: “You very clearly are not.” 

“I’m on hold,” she lied. 

Whether he believed her or not, Dennis rolled his eyes and walked back out of sight. He was an idiot, but he had been skirting around the edge of a good idea when he mentioned a waiver. Even if he wasn’t going to operate, it was still part of her job to take precautions, and hadn’t he been telling her along to do her job? 

As soon as he was gone, Dee stood up, taking two quiet steps forward to peer around the corner. She watched him walk all the way to the end of the hall and saw him turn towards the storage room. It was exactly what she needed to happen. She grabbed her monologue and her pen and dashed around the corner into the exam room. 

Charlie was still holding the cat in his arms, and he looked up from talking to it as she entered. 

Dee gave an eager smile and said: “Hi,” as she closed the door carefully behind her. “I just have a quick question.” 

“Shoot,” said Charlie. 

She had not planned what to say, but she was an actor after all, so she opened her mouth and trusted in what would come out. “I was just updating my files and I don’t really have anything on you. So first of all, it’s Charlie…?” She drew out the last syllable, her pen poised above her page. 

“Kelly,” he said. 

She said it back to him, nodding. “Good, good. So, next question: Who is your emergency contact?” 

Charlie’s eyebrows furrowed, but his mouth formed a slight grin. “My what?” 

“Your emergency contact,” she said again, eyes fixed on him, smile confident. She was seconds away from finally being proven right, and she could feel it. “Just in case, you know, if something were to happen.” 

Still looking skeptical, Charlie said: “What’s gonna happen to me here?” 

“Well, you never know,” Dee said with a breathy, forced laugh. “Maybe you aren’t here and we can’t get ahold of you. Who would we call?” 

Charlie made a humming sound and thought for a moment. All the while, Dee’s hand was shaking over the page, pads of her fingers pressed white around her pen. Finally, Charlie shrugged. “Probably Mac, I guess.” 

Dee’s shoulders fell. She felt like she’d just walked out to center stage for her big moment, only to find the theatre empty. ‘“Who the hell is Mac?” 

“He’s my best friend,” he said simply. “Do you need a phone number for him or…” 

“It’s fine,” she said through a tense smile. “I’ll just write the names down and get that from you later. “Anyone else?” 

He looked away across the room and exhaled. “Uh, maybe my mom?” 

Dee could hear her back teeth scrape across each other. “Anyone—“ 

Suddenly there was a crash from somewhere near the back of the clinic. Dee only winced at the sound, but Charlie’s head snapped towards it. 

“What was that?” he asked. 

“It’s just Dennis making a mess. Don’t worry about it,” she told him. If it was the sound of Dennis struggling, then it was music to her ears, but it reminded her again that she only had so much time. She decided to change her approach. “So, alright. Let’s say we had to bill you—” 

“Well, I always pay in cash, so—” 

“Sure, sure, _sure. But_ let’s _say_ we _had_ to _because_ …” she said, stressing her words to make up for the long pauses still coming between them. “You know, the… the law! The laws change all the time, and even now, they could change the laws and I, I would have to change how I do everything.” She shrugged and laughed, a stilted but genuine laugh, charged by the real relief of hearing a nearly coherent lie come out of her own mouth. 

“Ahh. I know what you mean,” said Charlie. With a solemn nod, he added: “The System.” 

“ _Right_ ,” said Dee, doubting whether he even knew what _he_ talking about. “So, who would we send that to?” 

“To me?” said Charlie, cocking his head slightly. “I don’t think I get the question.” 

Dee could hear the distant, intermittent sound of things being moved in the backroom, her already taut spine getting tenser with every muffled thud. Meanwhile, Charlie’s oblivious expression was burning up whatever she had left for a fuse. She was so close to finally getting her proof that she felt like she might just explode regardless of what anyone else did. She could not keep waiting. 

“It’s fine,” she said, forcing a smile. “So just to make sure I’ve got everything: there’s Mac, and your mom, and you also have a friend who helps you pay for all this, right? I should get his name too. Just in case.” 

“In ca—“ 

“Just in case,” Dee said again, and she laughed a shrill, anxious laugh. She stared at him, eagerly waiting to hear him say that all this time she had been right, or else for him to refuse to answer, which would have been just as much of a confession. 

Though it was only a few short seconds, it felt like a lifetime before he said it. 

“It’s Frank.” 

“Frank what?” Dee asked, eagerly scrawling the name on her page. 

“Frank Reynolds,” said Charlie, and he chuckled slightly. “Man, you guys are really careful, huh?” 

Dee felt a wave of absolute satisfaction wash out all her tension, almost would have sworn she felt her feet leave the ground. “Well,” she said, with a grin that she couldn’t suppress and didn’t bother trying to. “Some of us are. So what’s Frank’s phone number?” 

“Oh, I’d have to take my phone out to tell you,” said Charlie, looking at the cat in his arms. “Just give me a minute cause Dennis is coming back with some sort of box for this guy.” 

“Oh, no. No, Dennis can’t know,” she said. Before the _why_ could make it out of Charlie’s mouth, she added: “I was supposed to have this finished last week.” 

“Oh shit,” said Charlie. “Well, maybe I can put him, um…” 

As Charlie began fussing with the animal in his arms, Dee heard a door slam down the hall: her final warning. 

“It’s fine,” she said, taking a step back. “I’ll get number from you next time.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Dee shook her head, said: “Don’t worry about it.” She was still backing toward the door when it opened right into her. 

Standing in the doorway, cheeks flushed and forehead shiny with sweat, triumphantly holding the carrier up by its handle, was Dennis. When he lowered it and saw Dee, who had caught herself on the counter, his expression lost all its warmth. 

“What are you doing in here?” he said. “I thought you had _so much_ work.” 

“I was giving Charlie the address,” she said. “Before you tried to rebreak my back.” 

“You broke your back?” said Charlie. 

“She had scoliosis,” said Dennis, stepping into the room and proceeding to set the carrier down on the table. “It’s way less exciting than it sounds. So anyway what’s the address?” 

Dee turned over the script in her hands and scribbled the address on a corner which she tore off and extended towards Charlie, but Dennis intercepted it. 

“I’m driving,” he said, as he plucked it from between her fingers. 

“What?” said Dee. “Why?” 

“Because I am a gracious host,” Dennis replied. Looking at the note, he squinted. “You have terrible handwriting.” 

Dee rolled her eyes. “I think you can figure it out.” 

Dennis began fiddling with the locking mechanism on the carrier, trying to open it. There was a bar that ran the length of the door and was supposed to slip into parallel holes on the top and bottom of the frame, but he couldn’t get it to come out of one hole without the opposite end going into the other. He struggled for a long moment, Dee and Charlie both watching, exchanging a glance the first time his hand slipped off of it. The second time he lost his grip was when he got the door open, obviously without meaning to because when it let go so did he and his hand flew up into his chin, his teeth coming together with a _clack_. 

“Woah,” said Charlie, taking a half step toward Dennis, like he was about to defend him from the big plastic box that was getting the better of him. 

Dee only snickered, and Dennis glared at her. 

“Is there a reason you’re still here?” he asked sharply. 

“Actually, there is,” she said, her grin never quite leaving her mouth. “I need to talk to you.” 

“You’ve been talking.” 

“About something specific,” said Dee. “And important. And private.” She glanced at Charlie, then back to her brother. 

“I can go out in the—“ Charlie began. 

“ _No,_ ” said Dennis, in a tone that he usually reserved for pets trying to follow him between rooms. “You’re not going anywhere.” 

“I just meant in the hall,” said Charlie. 

“See,” said Dee. “He doesn’t even mind.” 

He began to take a step towards the door, saying: “It’s fine.” 

Dennis put an arm out to stop him. “It is not fine. _We’ll_ go to the hallway.” 

Charlie gave him a curious look and then a shrug. Dee rolled her eyes. Then Dennis began waving her towards the door, saying: “Get moving. Go.” 

She walked ahead of him into the hall and to the right, toward the back door. “So, he’s a _guest_ now?” she said, as she reached the end of the hall, turning back to look at her brother 

“He’d be a customer if I had an assistant,” Dennis snapped. “What the hell do you want?” 

“You should be glad you don’t have one,” she said, turning over the page in her hands and holding it up to him. She pointed to the name written in the margin, the page bending with the frantic tapping of her index finger. “Look at this.” 

Dennis looked. His expression did not change. “Frankenstein?” he said, sounding unimpressed. 

“No, dipshit. _Look_ at it.” She continued to tap at the page, holding it closer to his face. 

“I can’t if you keep moving it,” he snapped and then grabbed the page from her, eyes scanning the appended text. “Well, I can see that you’ve written all over your script. You’re lucky they’re not testing you on your bookkeeping.” 

_“Read it_ ,” Dee seethed. 

“Dee, I don’t have time for a theatre lesson right now,” he said, handing it back to her. “I need to go help Charlie.” 

She grabbed it, the bottom corner of the pages wrinkling in her hand. “ _Frank Reynolds_ ,” she hissed, tapping fiercely at the page. “Right goddamn there. Look at it.” 

“And?” said Dennis. “You wrote that there.” 

“Because he said it!” Dee‘s voice burst out of her, much louder than she meant it to. She glared at Dennis, inhaling slowly through her nose. When she continued, she was speaking through her teeth. “He told me it was Frank’s name. He admitted it and now you’re finally going to admit that I was right.” 

Dennis looked down at her, unimpressed. “Don’t get arrogant, Dee. Do you really think you’re making some big breakthrough? I had this figured out ages ago.” 

“Bullshit!” she said, voice rising once again. “You didn’t believe me. You said I was paranoid.” 

“You are paranoid,” Dennis replied. “Just because they know each other doesn’t mean there has to be some big conspiracy going on. I mean, stop and think.” He said it as if he had ever done it himself and it almost made Dee want to laugh. “Why would he tell you about Frank if your insane idea was true? Why wouldn’t he lie?” 

Dee shrugged. “Because he’s an idiot?” 

“Because there’s nothing to lie about,” said Dennis, raising his open palms like he was bestowing some great gift of knowledge upon her. That made her want to break his fingers. “He’s not hiding anything. It’s all a coincidence, just like I said.” 

And maybe if he had left it at that, things might have gone differently. Maybe Dee would have made another bid to convince him, or maybe she would have made several. Maybe they would have continued to drag out the argument for as many for weeks as it had already been going on. The story might have spiralled out in any number of different directions from that moment, or it might have gone nowhere at all. Instead, Dennis opened his big, idiot mouth. 

“In fact,” he said, an insufferable grin tugging at his lips. “I think if you’ve proven anyone right today, it’s me.” 

Dee didn’t say a thing. She had run out of words and she had run out of rope, so she raised her hands in a gesture that Dennis must have taken as defeat because he smiled like he had seen it coming. He thought he knew everything and she let him keep thinking it. She knew the real truth. 

She took a step back from him and, then because it was only a few feet away, she took the back door, straight out into the alley. 

“Hey!” Dennis called after her. “You can’t leave, I was going—“ But the door swung closed, cutting him off. 

It was quiet outside and the air felt still and clear, though it might have been just Dee. Where there had been seething anger only a moment before, she suddenly felt clarity. Tucking her monologue under her arm, she pulled out her phone to search for the number she needed. She found it before she cleared the end of the alley and hit the call button as it loaded. 

From behind her, the door opened again and Dennis stuck his head outside. “I’m locking you out,” he called. 

With one hand Dee let him know what she thought, and with the other she lifted her phone to her ear. She heard it ring. She heard the door shut. She heard the drumming of her heart. Then finally she heard a voice saying hello and asking how Philadelphia Animal Control could help her today. 

“Well,” said Dee, and then she told them.


End file.
